Muslih's Diary
"My name is Muslih Aramazia. There is little time left before the end. If I am not slain by the restless dead, then the bombers who make their daily raids will finish me off. If not them, the armies of Darkness shall tear me apart and torture me to death. And if not them, the Byzuran are here as well. I think almost everyone who could get away has. Everyone who could, at least. Perhaps my efforts in assisting the evacutions will absolve me, in some small way, of my sins in this life. I am not, and have not for most of my life, been a very good man. I am a member of the First Makers, or was at least, since the group was disbanded in the name of fighting the horrors that creep through the streets now. The First Makers were a poorly named but well organized human supremacy movement, we believed and feared that as Man became less of a majority in the galaxy, we would become second class citizens before the races we created, which live much longer than we do. I have done.. Many bad things. Things I only now regret as the end of my life approaches. Things I regret even more as I hear the sounds of frightened sobbing from the room behind me. I am not alone. There are a handful of halflings, a few yentho, and a couple of dwarven children as well. They were trapped here, the same as I, by the attacks." "For the longest time I believed we were safe here in Terria. Safe in the Gabbul Block. We are well protected by magic. I never believed our wards and shields would fail, at least so long as they were maintained by Men. I cursed the demihumans loud and long when they fell, and even louder and more hatefully when our defenders began being cut down by the endless legions that assailed us. I do not know how many I abandoned to their deaths when I helped slam the doors shut at the Second Gates. Many hundreds, many thousands. That was when I began having doubts, when their screams began invading my dreams. When their pleas for the doors to be opened hammered on my subconcious as I rested. I cannot remember the last time I did not see and hear them when my eyes closed. Ten years, maybe longer. Time does not matter anymore, not to me- no, not to us. I believe my breaking point came that terrible day when the bombs began falling.. It is one of the few things I can recall with perfect clarity." "We had found shelter behind the Third Gates, our last and strongest defenses. I was marching with my fellow Makers, we were insulted that we had been forced to share living spaces with the demihumans. Marching against us, ironically, were members of other, similar groups- I no longer remember their names. I imagine they were just as foolish. Waving signs, shouting threats and slurs. That was when the skies began to darken. Huge shadows all across the ground. We looked up to see huge aircraft flying overhead. All fell silent, as we did not know if the birds were ours or not. The raid sirens began to blare, and the ground began to shake as bombs rained upon our shields. It was but minutes before they fell, and the bombs began hitting the streets and buildings. I could not move, I was too shocked to, I think. Perhaps tired of running in fear.. One bomb went off not far from me, but it was not fatal. It was powerful but not as destructive as it should have been. They were not using the low-yield fusion bombs we had come to expect, but some sort of powerful concussive bomb that easily killed civilians with waves of raw force, but were not able to do much damage to our heavily fortified buildings. As I rose to my feet, I saw the most terrible things. People- pieces of people- everywhere. Some were still moving, screaming for help. But I could not hear them. I could not hear anything, for what felt like hours, but it was only moments. That was when I found my breaking point." "I saw an elven woman, wearing a very fine red cotton coat. The collar was thick, plush faux-fur. Fashionable, but also warm. The dress under the coat came down to her knees, showing off just enough of her legs to incite the imagination, but not to appear vulgar. She was wearing a pair of Rimelian Venice shoes, and plain black stockings. Beside her was a half-elven child, a small boy. Robin's egg colored jacket, and Osh-Kosh overalls, with thick woolen mittens. He was clinging to his mother, screaming, while she clung back and tried desperately not to cry, using her body to shield his. Five minutes ago I would have spat on her. Been disgusted at the half-breed she had birthed. Now.. I could only stare in horror. I heard the boy's screams.. And the most terrible whistling sound. The woman looked at me. Not begging for help. Not hating me for my beliefs. She was just.. Sad. As though she knew what were coming. The bomb landed right onto them. One second they were there, the next they were gone, as though they had never been. No bodies, no pieces, no bones. Nothing. I am not too proud to admit I soiled myself, and ran. Every night after that, I saw them in my dreams. Sometimes the woman was begging for me to grab her or her son and get them to safety. Other times they cursed me for my cowardice. Usually it was just the same sad stare. I managed to join up with other Makers a few months later, after the Byzuran, the Dead, and several legions of Hellfiends began clashing with each other in our streets. Our leader disbanded the Makers, saying that we would be joining the police in their defense of what outposts had been established. I tried to help, but every unit I joined was invariably slain. Perhaps I am cursed. Perhaps I am just lucky to have survived so long." "I stopped caring somewhere during that time, about who was what. The nightmares began creeping into my waking hours. Everywhere I looked, the faces of those who could not fight or protect themselves, were the faces of that woman and the child. Begging for me to save them. I tried, I tried so hard to save them. But always their faces come back, always I see them asking for me to grab them and get them away before the bomb hits. I can hear screaming from outside now. The Dead have come, following the stench of fear and life, no doubt. But they are not upon us, not yet. They must first tear their way through the lesser demons that have been hunting for us. We cannot stay here much longer. I must lead the survivors out of here, somewhere safe. I do not know where that is yet. Perhaps to the West, I have heard that Federation holdouts still fight on and take in refugees. I have become skilled at wielding this stick of rebar. One of the Halflings was an aspiring adept of the Temple. Perhaps he can bless my weapon or my bones, and I will be able to smash a path through for them. Perhaps my prayers to the One for strength will not be in vain today. I will bury this book, in the hopes that it outlives me. I do not ask whoever reads it to pray for me, or to come and find me. Only to remember what happened here. Who we were. And the mistakes we made, that cost us so many lives." Back to Terria Back to Main Page